Honeybee, page 13
‘One …’
‘Flo, I know you are embarrassed about what happened with Phil but—’
‘Two.’
‘Listen, everyone gets drunk and—’
‘Three.’
She raises the tray in the air and lets go of it. Eight cups and saucers crash to the ground, smashing everywhere. We are both covered in milk. It all happens in slow motion, then speeds up again when she pushes me to the side and storms out of the kitchen. I immediately get down on my hands and knees and start clearing up the broken china. I feel tears forming in my eyes. What is going on with my friend?
‘Have you been washing your hands in olive oil again?’ says Ben, getting the dustpan and brush from under the sink. He kneels down and starts to put shards of china into the pan.
‘Ha ha!’ I say sarcastically, wiping my eyes.
‘Oh, are you OK? Sorry, I was just joking.’
‘I’m fine. Just being oversensitive about something.’
‘We have an old set of crockery somewhere; you can just use that. Please don’t worry about breaking these, it happens. We won’t die of thirst in the meeting.’
He’s so nice. So calm. Just what I needed after that. I tip the broken china into the bin and go over to the sink to wash my hands. Ben is standing around a foot and a half behind me. He has a cup in his hand and is obviously waiting for me to get out of the way so he can wash his hands, or fill the kettle, or something. The energy in this tiny kitchen shifted in an instant when he walked in. The tension was so penetrating with Flo, I felt like the tendons holding my eyes in my head were going to snap, and that they were going to shoot out and slam against a wall. When she gets like that, she’s impossible. Like a different person. I thought moving in together would be better than this. I thought I’d be the wild one. But something is up with Flo, something dark and I don’t know what. It’s only been weeks, but it feels like so much has happened, and so little of it has been particularly good. I thought this summer would be the launchpad for the rest of our lives. No September offering us a plan, no schedule to follow. Just a free dive into adulthood with one last hurrah to send us on our way.
I take much longer to wash my hands than I need to. Ben waits patiently behind me. I can feel his eyes on me, I can hear his breath. I can hear the general chitchat of the office, everyone in their own little state of panic about whatever it is they have to do. I need to take control of myself, steer my life in the direction that suits me, make things happen. I can either wait for adulthood to take a hold of me, or I can grab it by the horns. I turn around.
‘Ben?’ I say, looking at him in a way he understands immediately. We step towards each other. We look into each other’s eyes with the undeniable pull of sexual attraction. Where it came from, I don’t know. But it’s here, and it’s forcing us together.
‘Ben,’ I say, wanting to kiss him. He’s so close I feel his breath on my lips. He stares at my mouth, then into my eyes. His body is so close to mine, it seems impossible that we won’t kiss. He offers me one more look, showing me that this is not just in my head, and then disappears back into the office.
11
Flo
How do you tell someone you’re sorry for being insane? I can’t look at Renée. I know I was weird. I know smashing the cups was crazy. I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know why I do a lot of things I do. I know I have to apologise, I’m just trying to work out what to say and how to say it. Things are getting on top of me, that’s all. Being back on the island, Renée being here at work, everything with Mum, with Dad. I gently shut my eyes and inhale long and slow through my nose. With my lips pursed, I blow it out for the count of 10, 9, 8 …
‘Flo?’ My eyes pop open as I remember where I am. It’s Phil, he’s wearing his usual buttoned-up floral shirt. His crotch is a metre away, level with my face. I wonder if I’ve seen what is inside his trousers. The rat springs to life and tries to make its way out of my mouth. A big, strange gulp greets Phil.
‘Are you all right?’ he says, quietly.
‘Absolutely fine,’ I tell him. My face is burning around my chin as a red blush starts to spread.
‘Flo, listen,’ he says, leaning in. I move the top half of my body towards him too, so that facing down doesn’t seem so strange. Anything to hide my crimson face. I hold myself very still, I don’t even breathe. ‘Would you like to have dinner with me one night next week?’ he says, quietly. I find myself immediately standing up.
‘What?’ I shout. He jumps. Georgina and Matt look over. When they realise there isn’t an emergency and look away, Phil carries on.
‘Would you …’
‘Yes, I heard. Where?’ I say, like he just told me one of the toilets is out of paper.
He’s obviously surprised by my assertion. I think we both are.
‘Um, I can book somewhere,’ he says. ‘Is there anything you don’t like?’
‘I eat it all,’ I say, my face still burning, but a smile now forming. I feel such relief that I wonder if a plume of smoke just popped out of my head. He doesn’t hate me. Why did it take him so long to ask me out? What was he waiting for? I’ve been in hell wondering if he thought I was a total slut or not. But this is good. We can go for dinner, we can have wine, have a nice time and put an end to this trauma.
‘Great. How about next Thursday?’
‘That works,’ I say, confidently.
‘Great.’
He walks back to his desk, and I deflate behind mine. The relief is like a shot of something strong. The scratching in my belly stops. There is nothing like a dose of confidence to shut that rat up. I collect myself and walk over to Renée in reception.
‘I’m really sorry about what happened today,’ I say. She looks up. ‘I’ve just been really stressed with family stuff. And Mum wants me to go to dinner with her and Abi. You know how Mum makes me anxious. I’m sorry I took it out on you.’
‘It’s OK,’ she says. ‘I get it, I promise.’
‘Let’s do something nice this weekend. Movies and food? I’ll take you somewhere fun, too. OK?’ I say, relieved she didn’t have a go at me. She was well within her rights to.
‘That would be lovely,’ she says, her smile now unnecessarily huge for this conversation.
‘Great,’ I say, walking away.
‘Love you,’ she says, beaming.
‘Love you too,’ I say back, not sure how or why I got away with acting the way I did. But I suppose that’s what friendship is all about.
Back at my desk, I see Renée walk towards the kitchen. A noticeable spring in her step. A few moments later, she skips through with a glass of water. ‘Hi Georgina,’ she says, as they cross paths. ‘Lovely day!’ Georgina stops and watches Renée as she bounds back to her desk, emitting levels of happiness that feel overwhelming in a small office.
Being asked to write some copy about cheese has really pepped her up.
Renée
‘Aunty Jo?’ I say to her back, as she slides new supers into the hives for the bees to build their honeycombs. It’s a beautiful, sunny Saturday, and I’m in need of Aunty Jo time after such an eventful week at work. She’s wearing her beekeeping suit so looks somewhere between a chef and a spaceman, and likely can’t hear me over the sound of the buzzing. ‘Do you think it’s possible to be happy and sad all at the same time?’
‘What did you say?’
‘I SAID IS IT POSSIBLE TO BE HAPPY AND SAD ALL AT THE SAME TIME?’
Sensing I need to talk, she slides in the last one and steps away from the hives. ‘Come sit, Renée.’
We take a seat on the bench that she had James drag across the garden so she could sit and watch the bees. ‘I find them so relaxing,’ she tells me. Something I will never understand, I still think they’re going to sting me to death. ‘What was the question? Oh yes, happy and sad. Of course you can. Why?’
I want to tell Aunty Jo about Ben, but ultimately, I’m attracted to another woman’s husband so I’m keeping it to myself for now, for fear of anyone bursting my bubble. ‘Take – I dunno – marriage, for example. Can you be happy and unhappy at the same time whilst being married to someone?’
‘Well, where there is joy there is always heartache, I believe that. Pain is the price we pay for love. No relationship can only be consistently one thing and I think ambivalence can creep in without you realising. Look at me and James, we love each other, even if things aren’t what they should be at the moment. I can’t imagine I’m much fun to be with right now, but I just have to hope he sticks around and waits until this hormonal fuckery is over. I feel about as sexual as this bench.’
I wonder if Ben’s wife is going through the menopause. It would be unbelievably harsh of him to describe her as ‘ill’, though.
‘Think of it this way, when I think about your mum I can feel happy remembering her, then sad for the fact that she’s not here any more. I can feel love for my partner, but sadness towards my body that’s changing. I can feel happy I have all of these gorgeous animals, and gutted that I never had any human kids of my own.’
‘And what about love? Can you be in love with somebody, and have feelings for someone else?’
‘Renée, is there something you want to tell me?’ she says, knowing me too well for a conversation like this.
‘No, I’m just wondering.’
‘Yes, I think you can love someone and have feelings for someone else. It’s why women like me are so afraid of it. I think being human is a daily battle against temptation. Left to our own devices, we’d all be enormous and be having sex with everyone. So we give ourselves boundaries, like love and health. But people slip, we all do. It takes a lot of work to keep up with what’s good for you. Relationships take constant work. Being slim, Jesus, I’ve been on a diet for twenty years.’ She drifts off, staring at the bees, lost in deep thought. ‘You know what?’ she says, getting up. ‘I should cook James and me chops tonight. That’s his favourite. Chops would be really good.’
I watch her walk back to the house and sit for a moment looking at the bees, wondering if I can find them as relaxing as she does. After two tense minutes, I discover I can’t. All I can think about is Ben. I can’t understand how I’m supposed to get through an entire weekend without seeing him. Luckily, bus parties are quite distracting. It’s Carla’s hen do later. I’m not sure I can look at a giant inflatable penis without thinking about Ben, but I’m going to have to try.
12
Renée
‘I hate fancy dress,’ Flo says, slumping around the charity shop in a strop. ‘Why can’t we just wear what we want?’
‘Oh come on, it’s fun. And you can wear what you want. Just pick a character from a film who wears normal clothes. Oh my God, look.’ I pull a blue fluffy cardigan off the rail. ‘This is almost identical to the one Baby wore in Dirty Dancing. And look.’ I pull out a cute white sundress. ‘That could pass as Fifties. We just need to get you a watermelon and you’re done.’
‘Can you go as Johnny?’
I’m not listening, I’ve spotted a rail that looks particularly inviting. Shining fabrics and puffy skirts, bejewelled cuffs and intricate bodices. I’m particularly drawn to a wedding dress. The neckline is wide, it doesn’t have sleeves. It has a satin bodice and a huge taffeta skirt with a beautiful lace overlay.
‘I want to wear this,’ I say, holding it up to Flo.
‘You can’t, it’s someone else’s hen do. Also, the theme is movie characters, so it makes no sense. Can I just wear my trainers? Baby wore trainers, right?’
‘Oh my God, The Runaway Bride. I’ll just wear this and trainers. It’s genius. Yes, Flo!’ I hold it up against myself, it’s so good I could scream. ‘And look at this, and this.’ I pull a few more dresses off the rail. Brilliant gowns, all with neat bodices and huge puffy skirts. It’s like I found exactly who I want to be in this second-hand shop. ‘This is it; this is the look I’ve been dreaming of. I refuse to let Guernsey make me boring any more – this is who I am now. And look, they’re only ten quid each. Ball gowns and trainers, why the hell not!’
Like a kid in a candy shop, I drag three gowns and the wedding dress to the till. Forty quid later, I am the proud owner of an extraordinary wardrobe. Flo is looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
‘People are afraid to express themselves here, Flo. I don’t want to feel like that. I want to live big on this little island. These dresses deserve another spin around the block. Now, let’s go find you a watermelon.’
We drink a bottle of white wine while we get ready, and listen to the Spice Girls for old times’ sake. I keep the music at level six, so as not to disturb Mrs Mangel downstairs.
‘You look amazing,’ I say to Flo, who is standing in front of me dressed as Baby. She’s curled her hair and everything. ‘Go on, say it.’
‘I carried a watermelon.’ We both crease up laughing.
‘Here, let me help,’ she says, pinning my hair into an ‘up do’. The dress fits perfectly; if it wasn’t for the trainers, I’d feel like it was my actual wedding day. I get why brides feel so special on their big day now; something about this white dress is making me feel like I want to fall in love. The image of Ben waiting for me at the end of an aisle comes into my mind. I brush it away quickly. ‘Shall we?’ I say to Flo, as we grab our bags.
‘Shit, shit, no,’ Flo loud-whispers as she gets to the top of the stairs. There is a thump thump thump as her watermelon bounces down the stairs and smashes against the front door. ‘Nooooo, now I’m just a girl with a perm and a cardigan!’ I find this so funny that I have to cross my legs to stop myself peeing.
‘Just sit in a corner all night, people will get the idea.’
Mrs Mangel opens her door around the watermelon explosion. We brace ourselves. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, ‘we’ll clear it up.’ She just stares at me, like she’s never seen me before in her life. ‘We’re going to a party and Flo trip—’
‘That’s my wedding dress,’ she says, slowly. ‘You’re wearing my wedding dress.’
‘What? This? I just got it from the charity shop.’
‘I took it there this week, along with some other old gowns. Well, would you look at that. You look lovely, may I ask where you’re going?’
Flo is creeping up behind me, clearly also baffled by the friendly tone of conversation.
‘We’re going to a bus party,’ I say tentatively. ‘It’s a hen do, fancy dress. The theme is movie characters. I’m the …’
She looks at my feet. ‘The Runaway Bride?’ she asks.
‘Yes,’ I say, a bit worried this is hugely offensive. ‘It’s such a gorgeous dress. I’m sorry if it looks like I’m disrespecting it. I just really wanted to wear it and, well, there isn’t a husband so …’
‘Disrespecting? Not at all, I’m honoured, and you look beautiful. And you, Flo, are you going somewhere else?’
‘No,’ Flo says, clearly disappointed by her outfit. ‘I’m Baby from Dirty Dancing. I was carrying a watermelon, but I dropped it.’
‘Oh, that’s very good too. You know, I saw watermelons for sale at the corner shop at the top of Mill Street. They’ve cut them into quarters, maybe easier for you to carry? You two get going, I’ll clean this up.’
‘Really, are you sure? The bus is due to leave in ten minutes, so we do kind of need to go,’ I say, feeling cheeky, but also not wanting to be a literal running bride.
‘Of course,’ she says, her face creasing into a gentle smile. ‘How wonderful for the dress to have another night out. I had wondered if maybe a bride would find it, but no one wants second-hand these days. This is much better. Who’d have thought that my dress would end up on a pub crawl. This has made my day. You two have fun,’ she says, going inside to presumably get a mop.
Flo and I leave. ‘Wow, that’s so creepy. Her wedding dress is now going on a bus party. What are the chances?’ she says.
‘I know, so weird. Maybe tonight’s the night I meet my husband.’ Flo laughs a little too hard, like the idea of me with a husband is completely ridiculous. I join in as though I agree, whilst trying to push the image of me and Ben at the altar out of my head.
The bus party is wild. There are about twenty-five women, including both Carla and Gem’s mums, all of Carla’s aunties, her boss and various colleagues and future sisters-in-law. Luckily, there aren’t any old faces from Tudor Falls. Flo and I only recognise Carla’s younger sister, whose name we can’t for the life of us remember.
‘Betty?’ Flo guesses, already hammered on vodka Diet Cokes and Slippery Nipples, our chosen tipples for the night.
‘No one under fifty is called Betty,’ I say, and we giggle to ourselves at the back of the bus, feeling very separate from the main clique. It’s like Carla and Gem are ten years older than us. Carla is dressed up as Princess Leia with a sash saying, ‘Bride to be’. She’s had her hair and make-up done by her cousin who’s also going to do it for her on the big day. Personally, I think the foundation is a touch too orange but her eyes look really good. There’s nothing funny in her interpretation of Princess Leia; she would have chosen it so she could look beautiful and not silly despite it being fancy dress. Gem is Holly Golightly. Again, most likely a very deliberate choice to show off her unbelievably perfect figure in a tight black dress. They look good, just boring. But that was always how they were, never outside the box. They were good at everything at school, and both were wild enough to have sex but only with long-term boyfriends and never one-night stands. They told their parents everything and seemed to have a childhood completely devoid of shame and regret. Too sensible to do anything that would damage their self-esteem. Too clever to party so hard their success would suffer.
Carla’s friends and family are busying around her, seeing to her every need. The cousin occasionally adjusts her hair. Her mother keeps making her down glasses of water. Others tell her how pretty she looks over and over again. What a lucky man Will is. How she’ll probably be pregnant this time next year and how they’ll have the cutest babies ever. I don’t know why feelings of jealousy keep creeping over me when her life isn’t the life I’d want for myself at all, but it’s a sobering thought to realise you wouldn’t be able to fill a bus full of people who’d treat you that way. For me, it would be more like a taxi, carrying me, Aunty Jo and Flo. And neither of them would think to do anything about my hair.
